Love of a hedonist
by MadamaVolpe
Summary: What would happen if Sparrow and Reaver ended up together? What if they ended up ruling Albion together? And would Reaver change his deviant ways for the sake of love, or simply carry on seeking pleasure? A what-if fanfiction.


_Author note: Well! You may consider this a prequel to my other fanfic 'The Masquerade'. They both revolve around a roleplay my friends and I do on facebook, about the events that happened both after Fable 2 and 3. It may seem far fetched, but it'll make sense in the end, truly! _

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><p>Reaver dug deeply in his pocket, a flurry of mumbled curses whispering from his lips. It was cold outside, snow spiralling down from the sky, and his incompetent manservant was taking his sweet time attempting to light a fire. Reaver's fingers finally found what he had been searching for and he brought out an ebony pipe, a beautiful thing engraved with the words 'Death before dishonour'. It had been his father's pipe, and their family motto. It was ironic to the libertine that he had a pipe bearing such a message, when he was the epitome of selfishness and evil itself. Still, it made him smile.<p>

"Ah…Masta Weava…"

Barry Hatch's lisping voice brought Reaver back from his reverie and he turned his face towards the young man, eyelashes batting slowly. The manservant blushed and lowered his gaze to the floor. He couldn't risk angering his master, or igniting his lust. He adored Reaver, worshipped him, but he was a rough lover. Often Barry would wake up sore and aching in places he never knew he had.

"Mm? What is _now_? Burnt your fingers again? I _do_ hope you don't expect me to kiss them better."

Reaver lit his pipe and took a long puff on it, cold, calculating blue eyes regarding the other man calmly. Barry shifted his weight, feeling a little unnerved. Like an insect held under a microscope for inspection. Barry had been taught a long time ago not to answer back, and to think before he spoke. Lest he get another spanking, which Reaver seemed all-too-ready to give.

"No, no. You have a visitor. A certain Hero."

Reaver's eyes lit up inside, though he covered it up seconds later by blinking seductively and letting a dark smile dance at the corner of his lips. He knew she'd come back. She'd married him, after all. Reaver had her under his thumb, wrapped around his little finger, another pawn in his game of chess. And yet, Reaver felt a little…warm. Heart-warmed, perhaps. His dear, dear girl had returned to him once more. She'd been outraged when he'd taken her to the Shadow Court, immortality in exchange for the lives of those in the gypsy camp. But here she was, returning to the arms of her love. The deviant. It seemed he still had her under his control, after all. She was his musical instrument; he held her like a violin and plucked her strings. Her hatred was his melody. Combine that with the stigma that came from Theresa, Hammer _and_ Garth, he had a whole orchestra. A symphony of conflict.

"Send her in, if you'd be so kind."

Barry nodded and went out. Reaver shifted in his chair, patting his fringe into place and wiping a thumb along his cheekbone to remove any trace of soot. He had a newfound interest in clockworks, you see, and had begun building his own guns. It was tiring work, but satisfying to have the only gun in Albion made by his own hand.  
>Sparrow, or Rebecca as she had once been, strolled into the room and immediately her presence was felt, not unlike a cold wind. It was always like that. Sparrow commanded attention. She was an unstoppable force of nature, and just as intense. She fixed Reaver with a look that could kill and stood, hands on hips, in front of him.<p>

"Well, well. Looks like you've been very comfortable in my absence," she growled. Reaver simply smiled and raised his pipe to his lips, taking a deep drag with deliberate calm. He regarded her with a look of absolute indifference; the only visible affect of her presence that insufferable grin that always seemed to grace his lips. Sparrow's frown deepened as her cheeks flushed the adorable pink shade they did whenever she was aroused or angry. It was a pity the latter was the cause this time, Reaver thought. He did so love his feisty mistress, whose sexual appetite was on par with Lady Grey. When she'd been alive, naturally. Reaver wasn't one for indulging in necrophilia. There were places even he wouldn't dare to go.

"Why, yes. Did you expect any different, my dear? I am _Reaver_. I do not _mope_."

Sparrow's fingertips shimmered with blue sparks that danced dangerously close to the industrialist. He had not to forget that she was a master of skill, will _and_ strength. She was the fourth Hero after all. It was one of the things that first drew him to her when they met. Her valour, her beauty, her admirable disregard for anyone who would manipulate those weaker than her. They were all things that Reaver found captivating; though he was loathe to admit it. He'd never actually said the words 'I love you', but then again he hadn't needed to. Marriage was enough. Though…to be perfectly honest, sometime he doubted it. He still found himself lusting after both women and men when his eyes should've been reserved only for his wife. It was because of this Sparrow had left, when she found him courting a red-headed woman named Rae.

"You ass. Don't you feel even a _little_ regret? You betrayed me, Reaver. I trusted you. I _married_ you. And for what? For you to try and bed the first pretty little dame to bat her eyelashes at you."

"Ah, but I didn't succeed," he pointed out.

Sparrow moved so fast she almost blurred. One second she was glaring at him from the other side of the room and the next she was on top of him, pinning him on his back and straddling his waist. His top hat was lying a few feet away and Reaver was fleetingly dismayed to see a small dent in the brim. His eyes swivelled to meet Sparrow's and he began to smile. He couldn't help himself. He'd always smiled, even as a child when he was getting told off. A hint of a smile flashed across Sparrow's lips before she frowned again, with renewed fury.

"You're a bastard. Did I really mean that little?"

She let go of his wrists to sit up and look at him, all anger fading from her face. Reaver too sat up and his smile faltered, only for a fleeting moment, but enough for a crack in his armour to appear. Sparrow sighed and shook her head like she was telling off a naughty child. Reaver retrieved his hat and brushed it with a slightly paranoid manner. He felt guilty, and he didn't like that. Not at all. He wasn't supposed to feel _guilty_. He was the Thief! The hedonist! The sybarite! The sensualist!

"I never said that, Princess," he murmured, calling her his pet-name affectionately. Sparrow winced.

"Don't call me that. If I didn't have a reason, I wouldn't even be here. I hate you. You're a liar and a bastard, let's get that straight."

A small, prickly fist of apprehension clenched in the pit of Reaver's stomach. Oh, that didn't sound good. She was still furious with him. That meant no sex. And that was never good, either. He supposed he'd either be spending the night with a Bloodstone whore, or Barry. Hmm, on second thought, he didn't feel in the mood for whiny manservant loving. To the brothel!

"And…pray tell…what is that reason, mon cher?" He asked carefully.

Sparrow spun away from him and pressed her lips into a firm line. She wasn't happy with her predicament. A part of her wished she could shut her eyes and wish it all away. A part of her wished she had listened to Hammer when she'd warned her that Reaver could never change. A part of her wished she could turn back time and stop her from walking in and finding a scantily-clad redhead in her house. The pain she had felt when she'd come face-to-face with the woman had been immeasurable. She thought she'd had him. He'd married her, pledged to love her and no one else and yet…and yet he chased after someone else. It was all lies and Sparrow knew it. Reaver had apologised profusely but the damage had been done and even as he spoke his eyes wandered. He was untameable, wild as a stallion with the sexuality to match. Sparrow's hands moved to rub her stomach thoughtfully. Avo…she had to be strong. Rose had told her to be strong, always. She wouldn't let her sister down over _him_, that was sure.

Reaver came up behind her and snaked one arm around her waist, dropping a gentle kiss onto her neck where he knew it tingled. Sparrow didn't push him away but she didn't embrace him, either. She simply looked out of the window, at the snow, and thought to herself. It unnerved Reaver when normally she spoke before she thought, and was known for being particularly loud. He sighed and cast a glance back towards Barry who was hovering by the door, looking nervous.

"Two glasses of wine, Barry. Red, if you please."

Sparrow caught hold of Reaver's wrist and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. He cupped her hands in his and his usual wicked grin was fixed back in place. Sparrow didn't care if he slept with a million women, or a million man for that matter. Not anymore. She still loved him, and hated herself for it, but she had given up trying to tame him. He would just remain the beast he was.

"I can't drink, Reaver," she explained.

Reaver paused and his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. Barry even turned around, mouth agape. Reaver laughed a little awkwardly and Barry joined in. Sparrow didn't laugh. She was deadly serious. Reaver patted the woman on the shoulder and nodded.

"Ah, good show. Good show. White wine for you, then?"

Sparrow rolled her eyes and cuffed Reaver gently on the cheek. Reaver lost his smile. Surely she didn't mean…

"Reaver, I'm pregnant." 

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><p><em>Awwwsheet! Poor Reaver. Little does he know just who he's the father of...<br>Oh! In case you're interested, feel free to check out Reaver's facebook page. His name is 'Reaver Perverto Kallendrias'.  
>He has...oh, about five children. Royal children, anyway.<br>But yes! Please read and review!_


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